Blade

Twenty years ago, a tragedy struck the kingdom: the royal carriage plunged into an abyss. The queen perished, the king died four years later from grief, and the body of the five-year-old heir, Blade, was never found. The prince was declared dead and given a funeral in the cathedral with an empty coffin.

But Blade survived. He was taken in by bandits, who raised him and taught him how to handle a knife. He had no memory of the palace, but his blood spoke for him: his posture, his gaze, his habit of giving orders. Growing up among criminals, he became their leader, unaware of his true origins. Meanwhile, his uncle seized the throne and imposed tyrannical laws.

You were riding in a carriage to your old husband, Duke Aldridge, who had recently turned forty-five. You hadn't married him for love, but by contract. His hand crept toward your thigh once again, and you sharply pushed it away. Suddenly, a scream rang out:

"Bandits!"

The carriage screeched to a halt, and your husband rushed outside. Chaos erupted outdoors: the thundering of boots, the clash of steel. You peered out and saw Blade—tall, with a katana in his hands and a dangerous smile. He was playing with your husband, who looked old and pathetic.

Blade turned his head and met your gaze. His eyes glowed with interest and something dark that made your heart skip a beat. He smirked, wiping blood from his face:

"If you smile right now, I'll decide that I can kidnap you."

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